Shatter
by Honestly
Summary: "Break him," said Aizen, and Grimmjow would later honestly report to him that Kurosaki Ichigo had never screamed louder in his entire life. Arrancar arc, takes place immediately following Grimmjow and Ichigo's final battle.
1. The Display

**Title: **Shatter

**Universe:** Bleach

**Pairing:** Grimmjow/Ichigo

**Disclaimer:** Kubo Tite owns Bleach

**A/N:** Takes place immediately after Ichigo and Grimmjow's final battle.

* * *

A fist slammed into his stomach, sending sickening spasms of pain through Ichigo's already abused body. Maniacal laughter echoed behind him as he doubled over, coughing and gasping for air. He fought to gain some traction on the slippery ground, struggling hard enough to jangle the short ceiling chain that confined his arms.

"_What do you think you're doing, attacking a guy who can't even move?"_

_The pressure of the enormous scythe increased for a moment, then eased as Nnoitra yanked his weapon back. "How pathetic, Grimmjow!" He sneered, looking down at the prone Arrancar lying in the sand. "Not only did you get your ass kicked, now you're letting your opponent defend you!"_

_Ichigo glanced back to see if Grimmjow was still alive. The Arrancar was bleeding profusely, but his vivid, unreadable eyes stared back at the teenager. _

_Nnorita's weapon dropped blade-first into the sand with a muffled thump. "Fortunately for you, shinigami," the Espada said, looking over Ichigo's tattered form with contempt, "I'm not here today to fight you." _

_His eerie smile widened as he stared down the shinigami. "Aizen-sama sent me here today with a message."_

A hand fisted in his hair, pulling his head back so roughly that Ichigo felt a stab of pain shoot through his scalp. The room smelled like blood and terror. "Those prideful eyes," the Arrancar in front of him spat. "You still think you're better than me, shinigami?" Another blow, this time to the jaw, and Ichigo winced in pain as he felt strands of his hair being ripped out.

"_What you don't know," continued Nnoitra, "is that Soul Society has sent four of their captains into Hueco Mundo to join the fight. Quite the party in here, isn't it?" _

"_You're here to protect your friends, aren't you, shinigami?" Nnoitra was walking in a slow circle around him now, his giant scythe hefted easily over one shoulder. "That's what you want the most. For her," a contemptuous finger jab in Inoue's direction, "and all your other freaky companions to walk out of here safe and sound."_

"_Kurosaki-kun…" wavered Inoue, from behind him, but she silenced when he held up a reassuring hand._

_Brown eyes met black eyes without hesitation. "What are you saying?"_

"_Aizen-sama is willing to let all of the intruders leave Hueco Mundo safely, on one condition." A long, pale finger extended in Ichigo's direction. "You will take her place as a prisoner in Hueco Mundo. For seven days and seven nights."_

The cuffs on his wrists had chafed them until they bled, and the dangling chain from the ceiling was dead center in the middle of the room, short enough that it kept Ichigo on the very tips of his toes. Without any leverage, he couldn't even use his legs to defend himself. Hands fisted in the front of his shirt, lifting him off the ground.

"Aizen-sama said we could do _whatever we wanted _to you. So I guess I don't have to hold back, huh?"

"_One week. That's all Aizen-sama is requesting. Pretty generous, is it not?"_

_Before he could say anything, he felt Inoue's small hands catching at his arm "No! Please, Kurosaki-kun, you've done enough!" Tears rolled down her face. "I'm the one who selfishly agreed to come here. Please!"_

_Ichigo gently removed her hands. "Inoue, it's going to be okay." _

_Chad was gravely injured, and he could barely feel Rukia's reiatsu. Ishida and Renji were no doubt battered, and he himself wasn't in great shape from his fight with Grimmjow. His last fight with Ulquiorra had almost left him dead, and Ulquiorra was only the fourth Espada. And now he'd drawn his friends from Soul Society into the mess as well._

_Nnoitra eyed him beadily. "I would consider this proposal very carefully if I were you. It is an unusually generous offer. If you decide not to take it, you can count on the fact that Soul Society will be receiving your dismembered corpse, sent to them in pieces, and the bodies of everyone who came to help you."_

_One week? He'd be a fool to pass this up. He knew it was too good to be true, that there had to be a trap, but he'd sworn to protect his friends at all costs. That was the sole purpose of his mission to Hueco Mundo. And if this offer allowed him to do that, if it allowed him to buy time for his friends to escape, for Soul Society to prepare, then he didn't care what happened to him._

"_I accept."_

The hands which had seized him released him just as abruptly, sending painful shocks through Ichigo's bound arms as the chain went abruptly taut under his weight. The young Arrancar in front of him was licking the blood off of his knuckles, still eyeing him. He had a jagged scar that ran sideways down his face, splitting his round face in half, and crazed eyes that were so pale Ichigo could almost see through them.

"You're not bad-looking, for shinigami scum. How 'bout I rough you up in a different kind of way?"

_Things had moved pretty quickly after that. One by one, different Espada arrived, with the limp bodies of Ichigo's friends in tow. Ulquiorra brought in Rukia, who was barely breathing, and Chad, who limped in with both his arms covered in blood. Ishida and Renji were next, dragged in bound and gagged by Szayel, both barely conscious. _

_The four captains were still at the portal, having been briefed by Gin of the negotiation and agreement. Kenpachi looked disappointed, Byakuya shell-shocked. Mayuri and Unohana just looked at Ichigo, their faces impassive._

_Before they left, to Ichigo's surprise, Byakuya had tried to address him. "Kurosaki," he'd said, looking at him with those serious grey eyes. "Think about what you're doing. This is exactly what Aizen wants." _

_We can't win without you, those grey eyes said. _

_Ichigo couldn't bring himself to meet his gaze. I know. _

The Arrancar licked a slow trail of blood and sweat off the side his neck, making Ichigo flinch back in revulsion.

He'd been stripped of his zanpaktou immediately afterwards, and then tossed in a sterile cell for a while. Two Arrancar in standard uniforms eventually came back and led him out, blindfolded and hands bound, through an interminable stretch of hallway.

He'd known what he was getting himself into. He'd known the minute he'd heard Aizen announce that the he was to be "displayed" in the South Wing jail.

"The shinigami will be chained, and the door will be unlocked for any visitors who wish to meet with him. Free to use him as you wish," the ex-captain had said to the massive gathering of low- to high-ranked Arrancars, and the dark amusement in his brown eyes left Ichigo in little doubt as to what the ex-captain meant. He could only pray that Inoue had not been subject to the same treatment.

His bruised ribs ached steadily, a painful reminder of the group of the lower-ranked Arrancar who had visited his cell earlier and had thought it fun to use the captured shinigami as a punching bag, kicking him viciously back and forth between the three of them until he was coughing blood on the floor. He supposed he was lucky though, that they hadn't thought to do worse. The arsenal of tools and questionable objects racked on the walls made it clear that there was a multitude of options his tormenters could choose to subject him to.

This blonde-haired punk was his ninth visitor so far, and the vilest one yet. He was now yanking Ichigo's black uniform open at the top, wrapping his other arm around Ichigo's waist and pressing his lower body against the Ichigo so that the teenager could feel the Arrancar's hardness against his thigh.

A vein pulsed in Ichigo's forehead as the Arrancar rubbed lewdly against him. Stretching his hands as far up as he could and ignoring the shooting pain in his shoulders, he hooked his fingers as best he could through the links in his ceiling chain and, bracing his foot against the Arrancar's hip for leverage, kicked the low-ranking Arrancar so hard that the Arrancar lost his grip on Ichigo's uniform and slammed into the wall of the cell. In the midst of the commotion, neither of them heard the cell door opening.

"You bastard," the blonde choked out, clutching his bruised face, a small _cero_ smoking in one fist of his tightly clenched hand. "I'm going to take my time with you. I'll make you pa-"

A strong hand suddenly seized the young Arrancar's arm, forcing his hand in the general vicinity of his own face. Then blonde gave a muffled cry just before his own _cero_ detonated against his face, leaving him shaken and smoking, but still alive. He quickly wished he was dead, though, when he realized who had assaulted him.

"Having ourselves a good time, are we?" snarled Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, before picking up the Arrancar and slamming him so hard into the wall that the blonde went rag-doll limp.

Ichigo just stared. He hadn't even noticed Grimmjow come in. He quickly snapped back to his senses, however, when the blonde Arrancar started emitting an unnatural, high-pitched whine, twitching pathetically amid the Sexta Espada's pummeling fists. "Grimmjow, enough! I think you broke him."

The Espada doesn't even glance his way, but his fists slow, and eventually stop before he drop-kicks the unconscious Arrancar out into the hallway, slamming the cell door after him. Grimmjow turns back around, surveying Ichigo before walking in a slow, tight circle around the teenager.

Ichigo mentally fidgets. He wishes people would stop circling him like that, though he supposed it's a predatory thing. The tall Arrancar eventually stops in front of him, hands shoved in his pockets. "You look like shit," he said, finally.

Ichigo couldn't help smiling a little, at that. "You're all right?" It felt strange, this uneasy alliance, but comforting all the same, an unexpected anchor in rough seas.

Grimmjow's eyes trail over Ichigo's body, taking in his torn clothing, bruised form, and exhausted eyes, before stopping on Ichigo's wrists, chafed bloody by the chain and pinioned painfully above his head. Ichigo eyes the Arrancar warily as Grimmjow moves closer to him, and then Ichigo jerks violently in alarm when he feels Grimmjow's hands grip his ass. "Grimmjow," he said, looking at the Arrancar in sudden terror.

"Chill the fuck out," snapped Grimmjow, lifting him easily off the ground. "Legs."

Ichigo hesitated, but realizing that it would hurt like a bitch (and probably dislocate his arms) if Grimmjow got impatient and dropped him, he did as he was told and wrapped his legs around Grimmjow's waist. He couldn't help a quiet gasp of relief as the strain on his shoulders eased and pressure on his bloodied wrists eased.

Unfortunately, his legs were also tired from sprinting across Hucedo Mundo, and he winced as he realized he was slowly slipping down Grimmjow's body. Strong arms slid around him, one underneath him and one around his back, pressing him to Grimmjow's chest so that he was leaning on the arrancar instead of trying to support his own weight with his legs.

There was an awkward silence.

"Grimmjow…?" Ichigo said in confusion to the wall behind Grimmjow's head.

"Shut the fuck up."

The cell door clanged again, and Ichigo twisted around to see a heavily-built, squat Arrancar step through the door, leading in a disinterested-looking female Arrancar. "Just sit there and watch, Yuu-chan," the Arrancar was saying, flexing his muscles in a way he hoped was impressive. "You can watch me beat this shinigami scum to a pulp!"

The girl, red-headed and busty, was eyeing him with no small degree of contempt, but she suddenly snapped to attention when she saw Grimmjow. "Jaegerjaques-sama!" She exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

Her companion, on the other hand, seemed to wilt instantly. "Sexta-sama…" He stammered.

"Fuck off!" Grimmjow snarled, and they did.

Ichigo loses track of time as they stand there, pressed together almost intimately within the cold cell. Ichigo tried politely to make small talk at one point, but Grimmjow shot him a look of such confusion and annoyance that he gives up.

Ichigo's thoughts race in the silence. The only sound explanation for this, he decides, is that Grimmjow is repaying him for saving his life. Even so, an absurd rush of gratitude fills his mind, along with a new respect for Grimmjow. Just a few hours in this hellhole, and he was already beginning to understand why the Espada were as cynical and savage as they were. In this hellish, hollow-eat-hollow world, it took the most bloodthirsty and ruthless to rise to the top, and this world was all Grimmjow had ever known. It took someone extraordinary to hold onto a code of honor, however twisted, in this dark place. In the past few hours, Ichigo had experienced the depravity of even the lower-ranked Arrancars firsthand.

And yet, here Grimmjow was. Ichigo shifted a little uncertainly, wondering how much Grimmjow was risking by helping him here. Knowing how much Aizen was betting on this little experiment of his, he probably wouldn't look to kindly on one of his own, especially a high-ranked Espada, aiding the enemy.

He pulled back a little to look at Grimmjow's face. The Arrancar shot him an irritated look, but said nothing.

"Grimmjow," said Ichigo, and then he couldn't think of any words that could make the Espada understand what he was thinking. He leaned forward, tentatively pressing his forehead against the top of Grimmjow's head, ignoring the Arrancar's startled inhale. "Thank you." The Arrancar smelled like cold, clean air, like the wildness of a desolate winter night.

Pressed as closely together as they were, he could feel every muscle in the Arrancar's body go tense. Grimmjow pulled away from him, his unnatural electric eyes searching Ichigo's face as the teenager blinked at him, unsure if Grimmjow was going to kick his ass for this transgression. There was a short silence, and then Grimmjow leaned in and captured his mouth in a slow, scorching kiss that set fire to every nerve in his body.

Then just as suddenly as it started, Grimmjow dropped him, turning on his heel and storming out of the room. The cell door slammed hard enough to send echoes through the room.

Ichigo sucked in short, shallow breaths of air, fighting nausea as his wrists screamed from the sudden drop. His lips tingled.

Well, that was new.


	2. The Combat

**Title:** Shatter  
**  
Universe:** Bleach

**Pairing:** Grimmjow/Ichigo

**Disclaimer:** Kubo Tite owns Bleach

* * *

The catcalls and obscene comments that follow him as Ulquiorra brusquely marches him down the giant hall leaves Ichigo in no doubt as to what the purpose of this event really was. As nausea churns in his stomach, he can only grit his teeth, wrap his hands helplessly around his chains and thank God that he had taken Orihime's place.

His hands are still trembling from the strain of holding his weight for hours, his wrists bleeding sluggishly, but he's still in better shape than he ever could have hoped. He'd had no visitors after Grimmjow had left. It didn't seem like a coincidence.

Still, he thinks grimly as Ulquiorra shoves him up the wide white steps and onto the stage, he isn't sure he'd be able to deal with what was about to come even if he'd been at full strength. The memory of what had transpired during his brief stop in Aizen's quarters still haunts him.

"_Well, Kurosaki-kun," Aizen said, smiling warmly at him. "Have a cup of tea." The thought of drinking any beverage prepared by this man sickened him, but the warmth of the teacup was too much to resist. He shifted his shackled hands and wrapped his fingers around the cup, breathing in the scent of tea, a scent of home that was too nostalgic and too wrong within this icy, dead place. _

_He'd been yanked from his cell with no explanation after a few hours, and was marched straight here to Aizen's quarters by Tousen, flanked by two faceless guards. And now he was sitting here, casually having tea with the most wanted man in Seireitei. It was almost too much for his tired brain to bear. Ichigo knew it was dangerous to blink in front of this man, much less nap, but he was exhausted. He tried valiantly to keep his eyes open as Aizen droned on, his deep, soothing voice washing over Ichigo. _

"_To break it down for you, Kurosaki-kun, there are two parts of how new prisoners are introduced to our little society here at Hueco Mundo. The first part is the display, which you've already had the pleasure of experiencing. It was, I'm afraid to say, only a prelude. The display is a show that we hold, to pique interest and encourage…participation for the second part of our process."_

_It was the sound of Tousen shifting uneasily behind him that startled Ichigo into full alert. Out of the three traitors, Tousen was the only one who had anything the least resembling a moral compass, not that this was saying much. If it was enough to make Tousen uncomfortable, Ichigo had no doubt that this mysterious "second event", whatever it was, was unsavory to say the least. _

_He's not wrong._

The stage is more of a raised square platform in the middle of the room, flat and white. Ichigo stumbles on the last step, and Ulquoirra's apathetic hand catches the back of his collar and drags him the rest of the way to the middle of the square. He's forced to kneel. _Don't look,_ he chastises himself. _It'll only make it worse_. But he can't help tearing his gaze from the blank marble floor, and instantly wishes he hasn't. There must be hundreds of arrancar here. There isn't a single sympathetic face - their eyes are glittering in excitement, merciless.

"Here are the terms!" A hunched hollow with a zebra-skull mask is running the proceedings. "Five moons with the _strongest _in Seireitei! Please note the prisoner's wrists, ladies and gentlemen – these shackles were specially developed by our very own Octava to drain this shinigami of his spiritual power!"

The eighth Espada had taken a sample of Ichigo's reiatsu before Ichigo had gone "on display", and in less than twenty-four hours developed a pair of flexible, lightweight chains that he claimed would suppress Ichigo's spiritual energy. Ichigo suspected that this really wasn't what the shackles were doing at all – first off, he produced such a an enormous amount of spiritual energy that he doubted even a scientist of Szayel's caliber could create a pair of handcuffs that could dissipate all that. He wasn't bragging or anything, it was honestly the only thing his body was really good at, producing massive quantities of spiritual energy. What it really felt like was that the shackles were emitting a sort of sinister energy of their own, corrupting his flow of reiatsu so completely that Ichigo was unable to use it. It frightened him, how weak and drained he felt. How human he felt.

_When Aizen finished his explanation, he paused to contemplate Ichigo's pale face with satisfaction. "Kurosaki-kun, you're very young, even in terms of human years. You are still a virgin, correct?" Aizen paused to sip his tea and give him a thin-lipped smile. "The way the bidding process works is that hollows can bid individually, or in groups. I'm sure you'll find the members of our community to be eager teachers. The process of sexual initiation is a necessary one for adulthood. I've heard the ordeal is…quite excruciating, but I'm confident that once this week is up, you'll have been adequately initiated into the process. Think of it as a farewell present, from me to you."_

_This is what Aizen actually said, but what Ichigo heard was, "Yes Ichigo, you will be raped until you die."_

"Remember! Bidding can take place in groups or individually. Bidders must come to the stage to stake your claim – ultimately the winner will be decided by combat." The zebra-skulled hollow paused, letting the growing murmur of excitement wash over him. "May the strongest win!"

When Ichigo thinks back on this event during the days afterwards, he finds himself unable to recall details. The tournament is a blur of violence and horror, and blood has already begun to spill by the second battle.

The first Arrancar that steps up is a giant muscular fellow with flowing red hair and cruel, deep-set green eyes. He roars his might, and then proves his strength by smashing the jaw of one potential challenger, and breaking the legs of a second with his bare hands. He is brought down by a pair of slender twins, comely but with cruel grey eyes. They disembowel him casually with steel chains which thump loudly on the floor but which they handle as lightly as cotton string. They slice their way through a slew of different opponents, before they are cut down by a tall, lanky woman who wields deadly-looking twin scythes.

One hour in, the floor is slick with blood and Ichigo is struggling with nausea. This is not a battle - this is a slaughter. And on some level, he has started to understand that this tournament is not about lust, but power and glory. And he starts to feel a worse kind of emotion stir its way through his haze of terror and nausea – pity. For many of the low-ranking Arrancar, this is their one chance to shine in Aizen's eyes, and they will fight tooth and nail for this opportunity. They have the choice to live and die in the spotlight or be quietly slaughtered in the shadows.

A hand fisting hard in his hair yanks him back to reality. A lean-looking Arrancar with a long scar over his eye has approached the stage where Ichigo is kneeling, ignoring the battle taking place behind him in the tournament ring. "You're a pretty treat, aren't you?" He murmurs, yanking Ichigo's head back to get a good look at his face. The Arrancar's dark eyes sweep over him, and then he smiles, showing white teeth that have been filed into points. "Wait here for me, my pretty. I'm going to enjoy this, and then I'm going to enjoy you."

He turns abruptly and strides into the ring, not even bothering to wait until the battle has concluded. He draws his blade, and in two quick strikes the first opponent is dead at his feet. The second warrior is not so lucky. The scarred Arrancar cuts his feet out from under him, and after the skinny Arrancar drops his giant axe and goes sprawling onto the floor, the scarred Arrancar begins to cut him.

Ichigo closes his eyes as the hapless victim's screams of agony echo against the hard walls and high ceilings. "Stop," he hears himself say, as if from far away. Then – "STOP!" He finds himself on his feet in a fury. Every Arrancar in the room stills, watching him. The room is silent, save for the wretched gurgling of the victim on the floor.

"Enough," Ichigo snaps, breathing hard. Unconsicously, he's yanking hard at the chains constricting his wrists, heedless of the pain of his bloodied wrists. He would give anything for a sword in his hand at this moment, a scrap of his spiritual power. Aizen's smile has vanished. "Enough already! How can you stand and watch this?"

The lean Arrancar is not impressed. He flicks his wrist, and the blunt end of the chain hanging from his non-sword hand smashes against Ichigo's jaw, knocking him to the floor. "Shut up," he orders, his dark eyes narrowing. "You're a trophy. Trophies don't talk. Keep your mouth shut!"

Wincing, Ichigo runs his tongue against his teeth. He can taste the iron tang of blood, feel the hot liquid tricking down his chin. "What do you want from me, Aizen? What do you fucking want from me? Because whatever it is, I'll do it. Just let them go. I'll do it, I swear to Go –"

"Shut up." A hand grips Ichigo's head from behind and slams him hard enough against the marble floor that Ichigo lies stunned for a moment. "My turn." Ichigo glimpses a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye, and then Grimmjow Jaegerjaques strides into the ring. A low murmur goes through the crowd, and the scarred Arrancar blanches visibly. Grimmjow is half a head taller than him, and radiating feral bloodlust, his blue eyes gleaming inhumanely in the dim room and his teeth bared in an dangerous grin. Pantera dangles from his hand almost lazily.

In one swing he puts the skinny Arrancar out of his misery, and then he turns on his scarred opponent so fast that the Arrancar is barely able to get his sword up in time to defend himself.

Ichigo watches, fascinated in spite of himself. He's never actually been able to watch Grimmjow fight. It is all speed and steel and raw power. He handles Pantera effortlessly, moving with the grace of a cat. The scarred Arrancar gives it his all, swinging this sword desperately, but in one hard strike Grimmjow shears his sword off at the hilt, and in another strike takes his life. The Arrancar expires with a single groan of agony. It's over in less than a minute, and Grimmjow is casually flicking the blood off his blade.

"Is there anyone else?" Hs eyes sweep the crowd. No one moves. "IS THERE ANYONE ELSE?" A low murmur starts up from the crowd. Ichigo overhears snatches of excited gossip.

" – that's the shinigami that beat him twice, they have a history…"

" – _hates_ him, I wouldn't want to get in the way of his revenge…"

"There's no way I'm going against the Sexta, do you know how strong those Espada are? I heard he even went after Cuatro for trying to steal his prey…"

Ichigo wonders if they are right, if Grimmjow does hate him. Why else would he be in the ring? Aizen is smirking – no doubt he is aware of the past animosity between them and thinks Grimmjow is the perfect one for the job.

Grimmjow strides towards him, his face creased in his familiar smirk. Ichigo is still kneeling on the raised dais, and this puts them at perfect eye level. The Arrancar's strong fingers grip his chin, and his tongue traces almost lazily over Ichigo's torn lip, hot and wet. "Looks like you're mine, shinigami," Grimmjow almost purrs, and Ichigo can feel his heart beating so hard his entire body reverberates with the rhythm.


	3. The Bath

**Title:** Shatter  
**Universe:** Bleach  
**Pairing:** Grimmjow/Ichigo  
**Disclaimer:** Kubo Tite owns Bleach

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Grad school life makes it hard for me to update, but just knowing that people are still reading these stories and waiting motivates me to write :-)

* * *

Ichigo hits the billowing, snow-white comforters face first with a muffled grunt as Grimmjow tosses him carelessly onto the bed. Still handcuffed, it takes him a full minute to fight his way out of the soft blankets. When he finally emerges, teeth gritted, heart pounding, scanning the room wildly for his enemy, he's met with the sight of Grimmjow's back as he disappears into another chamber. A second later, the sound of running water.

Ichigo props himself up on his elbows and tries to steady his breathing. He's in bad shape, and he knows it – bruised, exhausted, and _starving_. He hasn't had anything to eat in at least two days, so between the beatings he took while "on display" and his spiritual energy being suppressed, he's pretty much beyond offering any sort of resistance at this point . The new handcuffs they slapped on him before handing him over like a trophy to Grimmjow only serve to remind him of how much he is at Grimmjow's mercy. These new cuffs are lightweight but tight, chafing his torn wrists even further. More importantly, they have been imprinted with a sample of Grimmjow's reiatsu, meaning that the Arrancar could direct the movement and position of the cuffs with just a flick of his finger.

The roaring of running water grows thunderous in the bathroom. Before he has time to finish that thought, Grimmjow steps back out of the bathroom, sliding the door shut behind him. He makes no move to approach the teenager, but instead leans against the wall and considers the teenager for a long moment, arms folded. Ichigo stares back at him from the bed uncertainly, every muscle tense. Grimmjow is the first to look away, giving a short laugh before sinking into a white armchair facing the bed. "You're a fuckin' idiot, you know that?"

Ichigo furrows his brow in confusion. "There's no need to be rude," he says, finally.

Grimmjow rubs his chest, wincing in a way that reminds Ichigo that Grimmjow is most likely not completely healed from their fight. He stops however, and scowls when he notices Ichigo watching him. "What the fuck were you thinking, offering Aizen whatever he wanted?"

Ichigo flushes, thinking back to his outburst during the fight. "I couldn't just…sit there and watch." What bothered him the most was how quiet the rest of the Arrancar had been, watching the torture. Unresisting, accepting. As if they couldn't imagine their world any other way.

Grimmjow is watching him with something that almost looks like pity. "You can't save everyone, Ichigo."

Ichigo squeezes his eyes shut then, remembering how the thin Arrancar had screamed as he was being cut during the melee, his blood splashing the floor. He hears the cracking of Inoue's bones as Yammy flung her aside during their first encounter with the Arrancar, sees Yuzu's hysterical tears during their mother's funeral and Karin's grim, closed off expression. The emptiness in Inoue's eyes as she stands there in the white Arrancar uniform. His mother's tombstone. "I can't save _anyone_."

Grimmjow just stares at him. "You really are a fuckin' idiot," he repeats, and then stands up and yanks hard on the nape of Ichigo's collar. "Come on. Bath time."

"Bath time?" Ichigo repeats incredulously, before he is thrown like a sputtering sack of potatoes over Grimmjow's shoulder and carried into the next room.

The bathroom is unexpectedly gorgeous, marble floors and ivory pillars glowing dimly white. Halfway across the room, the marble tiles end abruptly at the edge of a truly massive bathtub full of steaming water which comprises the entire back end of the enormous bathroom. Of course, Ichigo is not given a chance to enjoy any of the elegant architecture as he is unceremoniously dumped into the steaming water, clothes and all. Thankfully, the water isn't hot enough to scald but the tub is unexpectedly deep, just taller than he is, and he goes under all the way before touching the bottom. When he finally flails his way to back to the surface, Grimmjow grabs him and dumps a large amount of cool liquid on his head. "Hold still!" He snarls as Ichigo yelps and tries to swim away. He snaps his fingers and the handcuffs drag Ichigo rudely back to the edge of the tub. Chastened, Ichigo obediently holds onto the edge of the tub to keep from sinking as Grimmjow kneads roughly at his head. The clear liquid is odorless but lathers quite nicely as Grimmjow scrubs at him.

"Are you _washing _me?" Ichigo asks in bewilderment, squeezing his eyes shut as soap bubbles inch their way perilously close to his eyes. It's almost surreal. Aizen's original plan of "Rape and Torture Kurosaki Ichigo for Five Days" is giving way to "Happy Bath Time with Grimmjow Jaegerjaques". Ichigo feels like he's missing something.

"You're filthy," Grimmjow responds, yanking at Ichigo's hair. "You're completely covered in blood and grime. Don't you humans have any sense of personal hygiene?"

Ichigo grips the edge of the tub harder in consternation. "I'm covered in blood from when you sliced me open during our fight, you asshole! They didn't exactly give me time to shower and dress before _mmph _\- !"

Grinning and completely unmoved by his outburst, Grimmjow shoves Ichigo's head under the water and his words are lost in a stream of indignant bubbles. "Can you please stop that?" Ichigo gasps when he resurfaces. In response, Grimmjow kneads at his head with even more vigor, making Ichigo yelp. "You're actually enjoying this, aren't you?" He sometimes forgets that Grimmjow's release form is a feline. He probably has a giant hard-on for cleanliness. Also shinigami torture.

Well! If Grimmjow was enjoying bath time so much, maybe he'd like to join. Reaching up, Ichigo seizes Grimmjow's soapy wrists and yanks hard enough to unbalance the Arrancar, prompting a string of curses from Grimmjow as he plunges headfirst into the water. Delighted, Ichigo tries to swim away before Grimmjow can get his bearings and retaliate.

A strong hand seizes the back of his uniform and drags him back towards a dripping Grimmjow, who is apparently tall enough to reach the bottom of the tub. Ichigo tries desperately to quell his laughter at the annoyed look on Grimmjow's face, but he's completely unsuccessful. He laughs so much in fact, that he starts to sink, and has to hold onto Grimmjow for support.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Grimmjow grumbles, but he doesn't sound entirely angry as he wraps an arm around Ichigo's waist to keep the teenager from drowning. He runs the other hand through his hair, dislodging droplets of water with a scowl. "Ichigo. Your wrists."

Ichigo blinks and looks down. His torn wrists, still chained and submerged, throb painfully in the hot water. A slow red mist indicates that his wrists are still bleeding. Grimmjow dislodges Ichigo's hands from the front of his soaked uniform and loops Ichigo's chained wrists over his head, so that Ichigo's forearms are resting comfortably on Grimmjow's shoulders and his wrists, crossed behind Grimmjow's head, are out of the water.

Pulling Ichigo more tightly against him, Grimmjow strides towards a set of marble steps which are chiseled into the far right of the large bath tub. He deposits Ichigo down on one of the wide steps just under the surface of the water, so that the Ichigo is able to sit comfortably, only half-submerged. "Keep your wrists out of the water." He grabs a nearby bar of soap, and starts scrubbing at Ichigo again. His long, callused fingers work the soap into Ichigo's neck and chest, which are barely covered by Ichigo's tattered uniform. Ichigo's bound wrists are still looped behind Grimmjow's head, forcing them in close proximity, and this should be an intimate, almost awkward situation, but instead it just feels…nice.

In spite of himself, Ichigo feels his eyes drift shut, feeling Grimmjow's hands moving steadily over his body. His sore muscles relax under Grimmjow's ministrations, and his head falls back as Grimmjow's fingers slide down his sides, knead at his thighs, and then…

Ichigo jerks his head up so fast his head nearly collides with Grimmjow's, flailing hard enough to splash both of them with warm bath water, prompting Grimmjow to say some very bad words which Ichigo barely hears in his panic. "Wait, Grimmjow! Shit, what are you doing?"

Grimmjow shakes his head irritably as bubbles slide down his cheek. Cerulean eyes meet Ichigo's in honest confusion. "I'm washing you, dumbass."

"There's…no need to wash me there!" God, his voice has gone unnaturally high. Ichigo's blushing so hard he swears he can see the water steaming around him. He tries desperately to squirm out of Grimmjow's grasp.

Grimmjow's eyes light up in realization, which is quickly erased by a shit-eating smirk. Ichigo lets out an unmanly yelp as strong fingers suddenly cup him roughly through his uniform. "What's the matter, virgin boy? Never had someone touch you here?"

Ichigo is surprised that his face isn't on fire at this point. "Don't do that," he tries to say forcefully, but it comes out more like a plea. Grimmjow's warm, hard body is so close to his and he smells so clean, like soap. _Please, please don't get hard now,_ he begs his body silently. Damn this Arrancar and his sinfully good looks. He'd noticed the stunning Arrancar from the start of course, but never allowed himself to think, never allowed himself to imagine…

Well. Mortifying wet dreams aside, he'd certainly never imagined this.

Mercifully, Grimmjow just laughs and releases him. Seeing his chance, Ichigo frantically tries to free his arms, get some distance between them, but since his wrists are still looped behind Grimmjow's neck he only ends up roughly yanking Grimmjow's head closer to his. "Careful," Grimmjow grumbles, but when Ichigo tries to pull his bound hands over Grimmjow's head the Arrancar makes no move to stop him, just rests his hands on the edge of the tub on either side of Ichigo and ducks his head to accommodate.

Once freed, Ichigo wedges his bound hands against Grimmjow's muscled chest. _Please, don't come any closer, _he begs internally_. _"If you unshackle me, I can wash myself!" When the Arrancar raises an eyebrow at him, Ichigo says quietly, "I won't attack you or run, I promise."

Grimmjow leans back, away from Ichigo. His eyes, which were surprisingly warm, are now unreadable, scanning the teenager's face. After a long pause, he says, "You actually mean that, don't you?"

Surprised, Ichigo hesitates. The atmosphere seems to have changed. "I do," Ichigo says anyway, and he means it. His dark eyes meet Grimmjow's. "I don't make promises that I can't keep."

"You've got to be fucking kiddin' me," Grimmjow says, almost incredulously.

Ichigo shakes his head. "Five days. I gave my word. I stay put, and Aizen stays put. If I don't keep my promise, Aizen won't keep his." Grimmjow says nothing, just eyes him suspiciously as if suspecting a trick. Ichigo swallows. "If I run," he says carefully, "you'll get in trouble. Grimmjow…fuck, I don't know why, but I trust you."

Grimmjow swallows hard, his nostrils flaring. "Don't be a fuckin' moron, Ichigo." Ichigo says nothing, just watches the Arrancar as his temper rises with each additional second of silence."Don't be such a fuckin' idiot!" Grimmjow is towering over him, lean and furious. Ichigo can see Grimmjow's hands clench angrily on the rim of the bathtub. "You see an opportunity to escape, you take it and run. Don't stop, and don't look back. The only reason you should ever make a promise with your enemy is to catch them off guard and take advantage. Don't you understand your predicament?" His hand shoots out, and strong fingers grip Ichigo's face almost painfully, turning his face up towards Grimmjow's. "You're not a guest here, Ichigo. You're not here to make friends. You're my prisoner. I could rape you. I could hurt you. Don't be such a fuckin' hero!" His thumb swipes roughly against Ichigo's lower lip. "The moment I turn my back, you should fuckin' cut me down. That's how you survive. If you don't fight for your own goddamn life no one is going to do it for you."

Ichigo is silent for a moment, staring up at Grimmjow. When he finally speaks, his voice is deep and rough with feeling. "You say that, Grimmjow, but you didn't cut me down from behind. You didn't turn your back on me when I needed help. You could've left me there to die, Grimmjow. You could've cut me down when I was at my weakest, or you could've destroyed me without lifting a finger by letting me get raped by that mob back there. Instead, you brought Inoue to heal me so that we could have a fight on equal footing. When I was…on…on display back there, I was so fucking terrified and so fucking helpless. But you kept that mob off my ass and you haven't hurt me yet. You're right, I am bound by my promises, and sometimes they make me weak. But not everyone is your enemy, Grimmjow. Not everything that moves is a target. I _trust_ you."

"Well, you shouldn't." Grimmjow's voice is bitter, but the thumb that traces the edge of Ichigo's lips is almost gentle. Their mouths are just inches apart, foreheads almost touching. Ichigo stares up into Grimmjow's face, mesmerized by the intensity behind those electric eyes, and in that moment - eyes locked, complete silence - he feels closer to Grimmjow than he's ever felt towards anyone in his entire life.

Their faces are so close now that when Ichigo blinks, he can feel his eyelashes drag across the Arrancar's cheekbone. Their lips touch, the barest of contacts, and they both freeze, wary and uncertain in this tender intimacy that is so different from the brutal inferno of their previous encounters. Ichigo's body trembles minutely as he fights to remain still, but he can almost taste Grimmjow in the slow exhale of the Arrancar against his mouth and he's trembling so hard, he wants more.

In the next instant, he can actually feel it as Grimmjow's control abruptly snaps. Snarling like a beast out of hell, the Espada crushes Ichigo against him and devours his lips with a ferocity that almost renders Ichigo into putty, melting in Grimmjow's arms like a damsel, a slow heat burning its way from the pit of his stomach through his entire body. Ichigo fists a hand in Grimmjow's uniform and yanks him even closer, their tongues tangling in a way that makes him weak at the knees, biting and nipping at each other's lips for control.

Grimmjow threads his fingers through Ichigo's bright hair and yanks Ichigo's head to one side so he can bite lightly at the teenager's neck, and Ichigo can't stop the pleasured hiss that forces its way out of his mouth. Grimmjow's other hand is hard and sure on his thigh, pulling the teenager tightly against him, and Ichigo weakly thinks, _he's going to fucking eat me alive_.

They break apart, panting. Grimmjow's pupils are blown wide, his breathing ragged. Ichigo's heart is pounding so loud that he's sure the Arrancar can hear. There's a moment of silence, a pregnant pause, and then – Ichigo's stomach growls so loudly it echoes off the bathroom walls.

Grimmjow stops moving and stares at him, his mouth twitching. Ichigo's stomach chooses that moment to protest again, this time even more loudly, and the teenager can see that Grimmjow is struggling to hold back his mirth. "Don't laugh!" Ichigo snaps, his cheeks flushing, but Grimmjow was never one to do as he was told. He laughs long and hard, hands gripping Ichigo's shoulders for support. "A bit hungry, are you?" Grimmjow asks rudely between guffaws.

"I haven't eaten in two days," Ichigo says grumpily, but he can't help but smile at Grimmjow's amusement.

Still smirking, Grimmjow releases his hold on the shinigami. "I'll go get you some food." He snaps his fingers, and the cuffs on Ichigo's wrists separate with a soft _clink_. This leaves him with an iron cuff on each wrist but he now has the freedom to use his arms. "I can't release you entirely, otherwise Aizen's pet freak Octava might sense that something's up, but this should be better."

Ichigo stretches out his sore shoulders with a groan, testing his new range of movement. "This is much better," he says gratefully. "Thank you, Grimmj-" His words are cut off as Grimmjow catches his chin and presses a soft, heated kiss on his mouth.

"I'll be back in a bit," The Espada says, his voice husky and low, and Ichigo swallows hard at the predatory look in Grimmjow's blue eyes, which are dark with hunger. His face flaming, for a moment Ichigo considers telling his stomach to go to hell and asking Grimmjow to stay in the tub with him but the Arrancar is already heaving himself out of the tub and the moment is gone. "Towels are on your left when you're done," Grimmjow says carelessly over his shoulder and strides out of the bathroom, shamelessly shedding his wet clothes as he goes. Ichigo hangs sadly over the side of the tub and watches Grimmjow's perfect bare ass at it moves into the next room.

"Goddammn it."


	4. The Temptation

**Title: **Shatter

**Universe:** Bleach

**Pairing:** Grimmjow/Ichigo

**Disclaimer:** Kubo Tite owns Bleach

**A/N:** Thank you so much for everyone that's followed this story up to this point. Cliche as it sounds, your amazing, thoughtful reviews are what pushed me to finish this (admittedly short) chapter. I promise I haven't forgotten this story - I have a LOT planned, and I plan to finish the story even amid my hectic life. It will get much steamier soon, I promise ;)

* * *

Grimmjow kicks the serving trolley into his room, swearing profusely. Whose idea had it been to make Hueco Mundo so fuckin' gigantic? As an Espada, he rarely had to eat, but plenty of the weaker Arrancar had to eat regularly to replenish their spent spirit energy. Good thing too, because if he had worry about eating several times a day, he'd probably resort to cannibalism rather than make that hike all the way to the kitchen.

He yanked the door shut and fumbled unfamiliarly for a moment with the locks. Despite the numerous ambushes and backstabbing that ran rampant in this palace, he rarely locked his door. Hell, Grimmjow welcomed a good fight - the bloodier, the more unexpected, the better. Many a hapless Arrancar, who coveted a place among the Espada and decided to attack in the dark of night, had learned that the Sexta slept lightly and Panterra was never far from his grasp. He'd had to throw out many bloodied sheets when he first became Espada, but the nighttime ambushes had waned as the body count rose and his reputation started to spread. He kind of missed it, to be honest. Sometimes he still woke abruptly in the night, tasting blood on his lips and heart racing with fury and excitement.

The last thing he needed at the moment though, was a rogue Arrancar sneaking their way into his room and making off with his prize. Door closed and locked, Grimmjow lifted the lid of the dish on the trolley and sniffed doubtfully. The dishes had been recommended (with an obscene amount of chuckling and winking) by Gin, who had "conveniently" been waiting in the kitchen when he arrived. There was a bowl that he could identify as some sort of rice porridge that looked innocent enough, and a plate of noodles mixed with scraps of meat. Gin had also tried to foist some gross, gelatinous creatures called "oysters" on him - the ex-captain swore cheerfully that they would put the shinigami in "the mood", whatever that meant, but they had looked so disgusting that Grimmjow had binned them in a dark corner on the way back to his room. He didn't trust Gin, and if the shinigami ate those things and died, Grimmjow was sure Aizen would rip him to shreds. He wasn't stupid. Aizen was looking to prove a point, and not the kind of points that would be made by a dead shinigami. Grimmjow's own dial was set on "Eliminate", but he was pretty sure that Aizen's dial was set firmly on "Suffer".

He glanced around the room for the Ichigo, and immediately spotted the teenager's bright head of hair buried in his sheets, a stark contrast to the white and black of the rest of the room. Grimmjow strode over, intending to kick the shinigami out of his bed for his meal, but found himself slowing to a stop as he neared his bed.

The teenager was lying fast asleep on his stomach, snoring unselfconsciously, his hands fisted in one of Grimmjow's pillows. His brows were furrowed even in his sleep, and Grimmjow's eyes traveled from the boy's peaceful face, down his bare back, to where the thin sheet clung to the teenager's slim legs and tight, muscled ass. Was the boy sleeping _naked_? What a fucking tease. Hot, warm lust uncurled in Grimmjow's stomach - god, it had been so long since he had wanted something so badly. Barely conscious of what he was doing, he bent over the sleeping shinigami, resting his hands on either side of the teenager's body, inhaling the sweet scent of Ichigo's body. He imagined yanking that sheet off Ichigo's waist, biting into his neck, sliding his tongue against the salt of the teenager's skin. Pulling Ichigo open and sliding roughly, deliciously into that tightness, fucking him hard. Grimmjow could almost smell the blood, hear the teenager's pleasured, agonized screams.

But he couldn't go any further than that. To his annoyance, he tried to imagine choking the teenager, smashing his fist into Ichigo's face as he took him, but the feeling of pleasure in complete dominance which had always felt so natural to him kept slipping away. Posed as he was above the sleeping teenager, Grimmjow could feel the warmth radiating off Ichigo's skin, see Ichigo's thick golden eyelashes flutter against his cheek with every breath, and Grimmjow recalled the fierce, electric shiver he had always felt when they battled, steel singing against steel, the boy's intense, stern dark eyes focused on his own and his raw, strange power burning vividly against Grimmjow's skin. Grimmjow realized that he didn't want to break the boy, maddening and complicated as their relationship had been up until now. He didn't want to shatter the boy who had been his equal in this cowardly, unbalanced way. That would be playing right into Aizen's hands after all, and if there was one thing Grimmjow hated the most, it was being told what to do.

Grimmjow reached out, gently settling his fingers around Ichigo's neck. He slowly traced his thumb against the faint line of a vein in the boy's neck, feeling the blood pulse rapidly against his hand. If he pressed down hard enough, he could end everything right here, right now, and there wasn't anything Aizen or anyone else could do to stop it. It might even be an act of mercy for the teenager. Who knew what Aizen had in mind for Ichigo once the five days were up?

Still deeply asleep, Ichigo shifted into the warmth of Grimmjow's hand. Against his will, Grimmjow remembered the way the boy had looked at him earlier with those trusting brown eyes, without a shred of calculation or deceit. Without anger or fear, even though he was bruised and cuffed and bleeding. Grimmjow's teeth dug harshly into his tongue as he remembered how sweet Ichigo had tasted, his hard body pressed against Grimmjow's, trembling despite the warm water.

A low growl rose from his throat, feral and hungry. Ichigo moved uneasily in his sleep, and Grimmjow jumped off the bed as if scalded. Fuckin' hell. Annoyed at himself and the circumstances, he grabbed Panterra and shoved open the door to his training room, blood pounding in his ears. He didn't even hear the door to his room as it slowly clicked back open.

* * *

"Let's be clear and go over the rules one more time," hissed the lead Arrancar. He was a sallow-looking fellow with a callous, lined face, the oldest of the small band. He looked at his ragtag team, gathered in the shadows just outside the Sexta's door. "Remember, don't engage with Grimmjow unless absolutely necessrary. It'll be a bloodbath if we do. We steal his prize, and then we can take our time with the shinigami later somewhere safe. Understood?"

A petite, homely Arrancar tested the edge of her hatchet nervously. "This shinigami...he's supposed to be the strongest of the strong. So strong that even Aizen is scared of him. How do we know it's not a trap?"

"He was cuffed by the Octava," snarled another Arrancar, hidden in the shadows. "Octava might dabble in some strange shit, but he knows his stuff." He let out a strange, high-pitched giggle. "Suppose they're fucking on the bed when we walk in? What do we do then?"

"I hope they are." The leader spat out distastefully. "You better hope that they are fuckin' furiously right now. Grimmjow might be at his most vulnerable when he's fucking, like any other goddamn animal. He's sure as hell not vulnerable when he's asleep or any other time I've ever seen him. Jareiz, are you sure there will be no obstacles to getting in?"

"Grimmjow never locks his door," mumbled Jareiz sullenly. He was missing an arm, the result of a late-night attempt to attack the Sexta years ago. The only reason he was even alive was because he'd been one in a group of five, and had fled while Grimmjow was distracted with ripping out the throat of one of his teammates, running down the corridor white-faced with his hand pressed frantically over his bleeding arm socket. "He probably doesn't even know how to lock it properly."

"Good," said the sallow-faced leader. He straightened. "Once we're finished, Aizen-sama will thank us for our service. I know exactly what Aizen-sama wants. We will personally carry it out for him, and then he will acknowledge us. We will become the elite!" His thin lips curled in anticipation, and his fingers traced the five thin blades he wore in a belt around his waist. He would make the shinigami scum scream before it was over, and then he would cut out his tongue and personally present it to Aizen-sama. Maybe then he would finally get promoted to Espada.


End file.
